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𝖶𝖧𝖨𝖳𝖤 𝖶𝖤𝖣𝖣𝖨𝖭𝖦

┗━━━༻❁༺━━━┛

It had been a week since Kai had won the election, and now Sophie was more trapped than ever. The house was swarming with blue-clad men, their postures rigid and their eyes watchful. Kai called them volunteers, but Sophie knew better. These were his soldiers—loyalists who hung on his every word, armed now, their hands resting on holsters as if daring someone to challenge their authority. Each day, the reality of her situation sank in deeper.

This wasn't just some political movement. It was a cult. A cult of white supremacist zealots, all devoted to a man who terrified her more than she was willing to admit.

Sophie stood in the kitchen—where she belonged, at least in the eyes of every man here. The monotonous rhythm of the knife against the cutting board was the only sound as she diced a bell pepper, her mind drifting elsewhere, anywhere but here.

She flinched as the blade sliced into her finger, blood beading against her skin before pooling into a small crimson drop.

"Fuck," she hissed, instinctively jerking her hand back just as footsteps echoed behind her.

Kai entered, his cane tapping against the tiled floor in an easy rhythm, exuding an air of power he knew he had. But Sophie barely noticed him. Her gaze had locked onto the man standing beside him.

Vincent.

Her breath caught. He looked older than she remembered, wearier, his sharp features shadowed with something that resembled concern. His eyes flickered between her and Kai before landing on her entirely, confusion clear in his expression.

"Sophie?" His voice was careful, like he wasn't sure if he was actually seeing her. "When did you get back?"

She forced a soft, humorless laugh. "It's a long story."

Vincent's gaze dropped to her left hand, his brows knitting together as realization set in.

"Is that—?"

Kai, ever the orchestrator, cut in smoothly. "Ma's ring." He stepped forward, leaning ever so slightly on his cane as he placed himself beside Sophie. "You're just in time for the wedding."

Sophie swallowed hard, trying to keep her expression neutral, but her grip on the bloody cloth tightened.

Vincent exhaled sharply, taking in everything—the ring, Sophie's wary stance, the unspoken tension between her and Kai. "I've missed a lot."

As if on cue, small footsteps pattered against the floor.

"Mama, I'm hungry," Micah's voice cut through the air, unbothered, innocent.

Sophie's stomach twisted as she glanced down at her hand, noting that the bleeding had slowed. "I'm still cooking, baby," 

Vincent's entire body tensed as his eyes locked onto Micah.

"Who's this?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Kai's lips curled into something between a smirk and a knowing smile as Micah trotted over to him, instinctively wrapping an arm around his father's arm.

"This," Kai said, resting a possessive hand on Micah's back, "is your nephew."

Vincent's face paled, his mouth parting slightly. "Nephew?" His gaze darted between Sophie, Kai, and Micah, as if piecing together a puzzle that made no sense.

"Like I said," Sophie said, straightening, forcing brightness into her voice. "It's a long story."

Vincent's eyes met hers, searching, uncertain. "I'd like to hear it."

Sophie didn't hesitate this time. She turned her gaze to Kai, silently asking for permission she knew she shouldn't need.

"Maybe over dinner," she suggested, her voice steady.

Kai's black eyes flickered down to her injured finger, as if the conversation had already bored him. Without a word, he reached for her hand, turning it over in his own. His thumb brushed over the fresh cut, his touch deceptively gentle.

"We should wrap this up," he murmured, inspecting the wound. "It could get infected."

Sophie blinked, déjà vu washing over her like ice water.

────༻❁༺────

Dinner had been a carefully crafted performance. Sophie had recounted her story, piecing together a version of events that felt believable enough. She'd threaded the truth with omissions, carefully leaving out the fear, the manipulation—the parts that would have shattered the illusion Kai wanted to maintain. Vincent had listened intently, his sharp eyes flickering between her and his brother, suspicion laced into the creases of his expression. But he hadn't pushed. Not yet.

Now, away from the stifling air of the dinner table, Sophie slipped through the back door, the cool night air biting at her skin. She moved swiftly, crossing the yard to where she'd hidden her escape. Kneeling down, she reached behind the loose wooden plank near the fence and pulled out the small, crumpled pack of cigarettes.

With practiced ease, she tapped one out, slipping it between her lips before striking the lighter. The flame flared to life, momentarily illuminating her face in a soft glow before she inhaled deeply, letting the menthol-sweet smoke fill her lungs. The burn of nicotine coiled through her veins, momentarily dulling the ever-present tension in her body.

She exhaled slowly, watching as the smoke curled and twisted into the night sky before vanishing into the darkness. 

The moment of solitude shattered the instant Sophie locked eyes with Vincent approaching her. 

"Smoke's bad for the baby," he said casually, but his outstretched hand told a different story.

Sophie hesitated, then passed him the cigarette, watching as he took a slow drag. The ember glowed in the dim light, crackling softly as he inhaled.

"It's been a stressful pregnancy," she muttered, folding her arms around herself.

Vincent exhaled, the smoke curling between them before the wind carried it away. He studied her for a long moment. "I know what's really going on."

Sophie let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Do you?"

"I know you're not happy," he continued, his voice steady but edged with something deeper—concern, maybe even regret. "You're fucking terrified."

Sophie's breath caught, but she forced herself to stay still, to keep her expression neutral. She shifted her weight, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. Wordlessly, he handed the cigarette back to her, and she took another hit, letting the smoke roll from her lips before responding.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Vincent's jaw tightened. He lowered his voice. "He's a psychopath, Sophie."

She scoffed, shaking her head. "No thanks to you."

Vincent's brow furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Sophie turned to him, her grip tightening around the cigarette. "It means whatever fucked-up thing he's turned into, it's because of the rotting corpses upstairs."

The shock on Vincent's face was immediate, his lips parting, but no words came out.

"He was already fucked up from the army," Sophie continued, her voice sharp, her emotions threatening to spill over. "But now this? Keeping them like that? You let it happen. You and Winter. You let him slip away, and now you want to act like you're concerned?" Her hand trembled slightly as she gestured toward the house. "You're just as responsible for... whoever the fuck that is in there."

Vincent let her words sink in. And then, to her surprise, he nodded. "You're right."

Sophie blinked, caught off guard. Of all the things she'd expected, agreement wasn't one of them.

"I'm going to fix it," 

Sophie exhaled sharply. "How?"

"Get him the help he needs. Get him locked up. Whatever it takes."

"Shh!" Sophie hissed, her eyes darting toward the house. "You can't talk like that."

Vincent didn't flinch. "Someone has to."

Sophie's pulse thundered in her ears as she flicked the cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath her heel. Her eyes darted to the house and she swore she saw a flicker of movement. Paranoia slithered up her spine.

"You don't get it," she whispered fiercely, stepping closer to Vincent. "He hears everything. He knows everything. You think you can just walk in here and—"

"I'm his brother." Vincent's voice was steady but laced with something raw. "I know him better than you think."

Sophie let out a bitter laugh. "No. You knew the version of him that still had a grip on reality. That's not who's in there anymore." She swallowed hard, her throat dry. "Do you know what he's capable of?"

Vincent held her gaze, his silence telling.

Sophie's voice dropped even lower, the words shaking as she forced them out. "I do."

A shadow moved behind the curtain. Sophie's breath hitched, her fingers clenching into fists at her sides.

Vincent followed her gaze and took a step closer. "If you're scared of him, then you need to get out."

She almost laughed again, but the sound stuck in her throat. "And go where? You think he'd let me just leave?" She shook her head, glancing away. 

Vincent exhaled through his nose, his frustration barely restrained. "You can't stay here, Sophie."

"Then help me." She met his eyes again, desperate but unyielding. "If you're serious about stopping him, help me figure out how."

A door creaked in the distance. They both stiffened.

Vincent took a step back, shoving his hands into his pockets, masking the urgency on his face. Sophie turned just as a voice called out.

"Soph?"

Kai.

She turned slowly, willing herself to stay calm as she watched him step onto the porch, his gaze flickering between her and Vincent.

"You okay, baby?" he asked, his voice smooth.

Sophie forced a smile. "Yeah, just getting some air."

Kai nodded but lingered, his eyes narrowing slightly at his brother before finally addressing him. "Vincent, you staying for a nightcap or heading out?"

"Yeah, let's have a drink." Vincent nodded.

────༻❁༺────

Sophie's fingers trembled slightly as she smoothed down the front of her dress—a simple white number Winter had helped her pick out. It wasn't what she had envisioned for her wedding, but then again, nothing about this was what she had envisioned.

Beside her, Winter stood stiffly, arms crossed as she avoided Kai's gaze. Vincent stood near Kai, his expression unreadable as he surveyed the small, dull room.

Kai, however, was the picture of calm. Confident. Smug. His suit, though hastily thrown together, looked sharp on him, and he tapped his cane against the floor absently, as if this were just another meeting, another deal being sealed in his favor.

The officiant cleared his throat, glancing between the four of them. "Are we ready to begin?"

Sophie's heart pounded. This was it. There was no backing out. 

Kai turned to her, taking both of her hands in his. His grip was warm, firm, claiming. "You ready, baby?" His voice was soft, almost coaxing, but there was something underneath it. A warning.

Sophie forced a smile. "Of course."

Vincent remained silent, his jaw tightening.

The officiant began speaking, the words blurring together in Sophie's mind. She barely heard him, barely registered anything except the weight of Kai's eyes on her, the way his thumb brushed over her knuckles. When it came time for the vows, Kai spoke first.

"Sophie," he began, his voice dripping with reverence, like he was delivering a sermon to his followers. "From the moment I met you, I knew you were mine. We were always meant to be, and now—now the whole world will see it too." He lifted her hand, pressing a slow kiss to the back of it. "I vow to protect you, to cherish you, and to lead you the way a husband should lead his wife."

Sophie's stomach twisted.

"Your turn," the officiant prompted.

She inhaled sharply, forcing herself to focus. To play her part. "Malakai," she began, her voice steady despite the fear curling in her gut. "We've been through so much together. And no matter what happens, I—" She hesitated, the lie sitting bitter on her tongue. "I know we're meant to be."

Kai's smile widened.

The officiant nodded. "Do you, Malakai Anderson, take Sophie Campbell to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do."

"And do you, Sophie Campbell, take Malakai Anderson to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Sophie's pulse roared in her ears. Her fingers curled slightly in his grasp.

"I do."

"By the power vested in me by the state of Michigan, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

Kai wasted no time. He cupped Sophie's face, his fingers tangling in her hair as he kissed her. Possessive. Demanding. Branding her as his.

Winter looked away, her arms tightening over her chest. Vincent's expression darkened.

When Kai finally pulled back, he leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear.

"Now there's no escaping me, baby."

Sophie swallowed hard, her smile frozen in place as Kai turned to the officiant to sign the papers.

Winter reached for her hand, squeezing it just once before letting go. Sophie didn't dare look at her.

Because if she did, she might break.

────༻❁༺────

The hotel room was lit with candles and Kai had spared no expense for their so-called honeymoon, but despite the luxurious king-sized bed and champagne chilling in a bucket by the window, Sophie felt more like a prisoner than a newlywed.

Outside, stationed right by the door, one of Kai's men stood watch. She wasn't sure if he was there for Kai's protection or to ensure she didn't try to escape. Maybe both.

Micah was at home with Winter. At least she had that small comfort.

A shiver ran down her spine as she felt Kai's fingers at the back of her dress, undoing the ties of her white corset with practiced ease. The delicate garment loosened, slipping off her shoulders, while the rest of her dress already lay in a pool of silk around her ankles. She stood there in nothing but her lace undergarments, her body tense, waiting.

It had been so long since they had been together like this. Kai had been too busy—too preoccupied with his campaign, his cult, his delusions of grandeur. A part of her had been relieved by the distance. But another part—one she hated to acknowledge—missed this. Missed his touch, the way his hands knew every inch of her body.

It was in these rare, intimate moments that she could almost fool herself into believing he was still the Kai she had fallen for all those years ago. 

But then he spoke.

"I was thinking you could quit your job now," Kai murmured, his voice low as his fingers traced down the curve of her spine.

Sophie stilled, her breath catching in her throat. "What?"

She turned slightly, her reflection catching in the hotel mirror—her bare skin against Kai's fully clothed frame, his black eyes watching her like a hunter surveying its prey.

"You'll be too busy with the baby and being a councilman's wife, don't you think?"

Her stomach churned. Her job was the only thing left that gave her peace. The only thing that still belonged to her.

Her fingers curled into fists. "Kai, I—"

His hands slid to her waist, fingers pressing just hard enough to make her still.

"I just think it's for the best," he continued, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "No more stress, no more distractions. Just you, me, and our family."

Sophie swallowed hard, staring at their reflection. She didn't know what was more suffocating—the way his hands gripped her like he owned her, or the realization that she was slowly losing every last piece of herself.

"Whatever you want, my love," Sophie whispered, despising the way her body betrayed her. She hated the way she melted into his touch, the way she craved the warmth of his hands despite everything. And yet, she still leaned in.

Kai's grip tightened ever so slightly, his breath warm against her ear as he kissed the side of her neck. "That's my girl," he murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction.

Sophie squeezed her eyes shut, her hands trembling at her sides. She hated herself for the way she leaned into him, for the way her body betrayed her mind. It was muscle memory—years of knowing his touch, craving the warmth and familiarity of it. Even as her heart screamed for her to pull away, her body refused to listen.

Kai's hands roamed over her stomach, fingertips brushing against the still-flat surface where their baby grew. "You'll love staying home," he continued, his voice honeyed, coaxing. "No more long days at work. No more worrying about anyone but me and Micah and the baby."

She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Of course," she whispered, forcing herself to sound serene. 

The words tasted like poison.

She hated the way he smiled against her skin, the way he believed her so easily. Maybe he wanted to believe her. Maybe he thought he had finally, fully molded her into exactly what he wanted.

Sophie lifted her gaze to the mirror again, barely recognizing the woman staring back at her. She looked hollow, a porcelain doll draped in lace and submission.

But deep inside, beneath the surface, her mind still burned.

She wasn't broken yet.

She watched in the mirror as Kai's hands roamed over her body as if he were memorizing every curve, every inch of her skin. His touch was possessive, claiming her in a way that made her pulse quicken. A flush crept up her neck, spreading like wildfire through her body, an involuntary reaction she despised.

Despite the fear that coiled in her stomach, there was something intoxicating about the way he touched her—something dark and twisted that left her breath hitching. It was fucked up. It was wrong. And yet, the sheer intensity of it made her want him even more. She felt sick for craving him, for yearning for the only part of their relationship that still felt familiar. 

His arm tightened around her waist, his hand trailing lower with agonizing slowness until his fingers slipped beneath the delicate lace of her panties. The first brush of his touch sent a shudder through her, a heat pooling deep in her core as his fingers moved against her clit with practiced ease.

Soft, breathy moans escaped her lips, her head tilting back against his shoulder as she gave in, let herself feel. The press of his mouth against her skin was slow and lingering, his lips ghosting over her neck and shoulder.

For a moment, she let herself sink into it. She let herself forget the fear, the manipulation, the inevitable destruction waiting at the end of this twisted road. Because no matter how much she despised what he had become, no matter how much she longed to escape, part of her still ached for him. Still craved the way he made her feel—like the girl she used to be, like she was still nineteen and reckless and in love.

But reality clawed at the edges of her mind, reminding her that this wasn't a love story. It was a tragedy waiting to unfold. And one day, she knew, this would end in blood. Whether it was hers or his, she didn't know. But this—this stolen moment—might never happen again.

────༻❁༺────